The Seven Days of Creepie Creecher
by Charles Lehmann - Minamorti
Summary: Life is a short and often brutish experience. Life can be even shorter when you live your entire life in 7 days... Rated T for content
1. Born on Monday

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Growing up Creepie, or any of its characters or properties, however badly I want to. Unfortunately, it will simply never be. Oh well.

Ever hear of the rhyme poem of Solomon Grundy? No, not the DC comic's supervillan, who is actually named after the poem in question. If you have, you can tell where this story will be going. If you don't, I suggest you don't look it up. It'll ruin the entire story for you.

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_Solomon Grundy, _

_Born on a Monday_

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Beginnings are interesting things. Once one starts a story with a good beginning, they read or listen on intently until, without realizing it, they have already read/heard the first half of the story and find that they can hardly remember the beginning of the story. They are fascinating in this respect; it doesn't matter where the story starts, or what the beginning itself was about, because that's not what beginnings are for; they are merely there to start the story, to ease the reader/listener into the story so that they can get to the actual plot, which is itself the whole point of beginnings. Beyond that, beginnings seemingly have not other point, no other purpose to achieve. They are there to simply play their part and when this is done, they can be as easily forgotten as they are created. This is the way of things and things will always be this way. Beginnings will nearly always the lowest, least interesting part of the story and that is that. Beginnings are hardly ever, if that, remembered. It's the climaxes and the endings of stories that are remembered the most; even the best beginnings are only dust in the wind when compared to a decent ending. Why, even the most important beginning of all, the first Beginning, is only remembered as it truly happened by the few lot that were there when it occurred and these few do not speak of it to mortals and rarely among each other.

But don't think for a second that this means that beginnings are worthless; in fact, they are often the most important part of the story, just, if not more so, than the actual "moral" to the story, which is what stories are truly about. You see, stories are the lies that we tell to one another to comfort ourselves, to entertain or to educate, to learn about the light of the fire and the darkness of the cave and the outside world. In a sense, stories have been there ever since the dawning of man, to keep us warm in the night, as we naked simians clung to each other in a desperate attempt to keep warm and to comfort ourselves that perhaps we will indeed live to see the next sunrise. Stories are meant to reveal the truths of the universe and to keep us humans company when there is none other there to do so. And beginnings are often the most important truth of all. After all, the very fact that beginnings are the start of things means something so much more than any "moral" can tell you. Why, one may ask, are beginnings so important? The reason is simple enough. Beginnings, just like the very first Beginning, are a display of the greatest truth of all: that, while, yes, there will always be endings to things, endings to stories, endings to Life, and the End of the Story, which will be the last and True End, that until that time, there will be always more beginnings to things, from the beginning to a simple story about a girl raised by insects to the beginning of Life, the beginning of the Story. Beginnings are the hope for humans, and just like hope, beginnings will always spring eternal.

Now the story on hand's beginning is one of interesting intrigue. It has inside, not unlike most of stories past, romance and tragedy, love and loss, Life and Death. And not unlike other stories, it even starts with "Once upon a time…"

There was once was a pair of lovers. They were a young, happy couple who loved each other very, very much and who, like so many romantic lovers, were not exactly bound together by what humans like to think as "holy" matrimony for reasons far too complicated to get into at this time. Not that this made any difference to the couple; they loved each other as only lovers could and only as the early years of youthful hormones could provide.

They did everything together: they ate together, they walked together, and they exercised together. They even, as many old married couples don't do, fucked together. They were able to complete the other's sentences in an unusually creepy fashion. They practically breathed together, they were that in sync.

However, there came a time when the couple was sad. They had been secretly together for a few years and yet their union had not yet produced fruit. They worried briefly, as all couples do at one point or another, if it was some fault of theirs, if they somehow had "faulty equipment." They tried various "enhancers" and techniques that were said to supposedly increase the chances of fruition, which caused several exciting if awkward positioning of body parts and subsequent back and joint pains. So imagine their delight and relief when, one day, the couple discovered that they would soon be visited by a little bundle of joy within the next eight to nine months. This caused the expected effect of a mixture of the utter joy and abject terror of responsibility of first-time parenthood.

And when the day came when they finally could see their little girl in with their own eyes and hold her in their own arms, the sheer thrill of it all far outweighed their former fears. They then knew that they would take her home, raise their little girl as best as they could, their little Violet Hope Monday, and live together as a family until death parted them.

However, it was not meant to be. Shortly after fair Violet's birth, the mother, dear Miss Monday fell ill under circumstances far too common for pregnant mothers and before anyone could anything to stop it, Death visited the house of Mondays.

Few attended the funeral. As nice as a person as she had been, for the purposes of her work Miss Monday had been largely forbidden from making friends and so the world had not only been denied by death one of the most wonderful, the most beautiful persons to ever walk this planet but by life and its rules as well. Only her lover, Violet and her two closest friends attended; the rest were simply background material.

Now a widower, the young man understandably fell into a deep depression, into a place not of sound but mind, where the light came in through a deeply netted filter even when the sun hung highest in the sky, and the deep, dark overcast clouds of misery bore down on his mind. His sadness was only worsened by his ignorant daughter's notable resemblance to his lost lover.

Still, he loved his daughter and like it is every father's duty to, he did everything in his power to make her happy and healthy. And so it was with a heavy heart that he finally made up his mind and came to leave his darling baby on the doorstep of the Dweezwold Mansion.

He didn't want to do it; even under the worst circumstances, no father worth half his merits would ever wish to leave any child of his on anyone's doorstep. But, with the death of his lover and the predicted drop of income, he was finding it increasingly and increasingly difficult to care for himself, much less a delicate baby girl. And he _certainty_ couldn't hand her over to a government-owned orphanage agency; it would raise unwanted attention, the last thing he needed right now. No, it was this or the two of them would wind up starving in the streets.

And it was so that Mr. Monday came to the gates of Dweezwold. Pushing open its rusted iron-black gates, he ventured up its crooked pathway unnoticed to its lacquer doors. For a second, a worried look of uncertainty crossed his face and looking down at the basket in his arms, he saw the face of his darling Violet. She was asleep, the little angel, and a countenance of the utmost innocence. Soon however, Violet's eyes began to flutter open and in one quick motion, with hardly disturbing his waking daughter, Mr. Monday planted Violet on the base of the door, note at the bottom of her basket, knocked at the door and was away quicker than any human should be able to flee.

He could only hope that, whoever lived inside this mansion, would not turn away his daughter Violet. He could only hope.

Mr. Monday hated endings; it implied that things could truly cease to be after the turn of the page and close of the book. This is not true; there is no true end to anything, even the end of a story or the end of life; there is merely the True End, the existence of which is itself doubtable. After all, even if the End of the Story was to come, then what? An infinite sea of Nothingness? Even that is something, if only because there is, somewhere, the memory that this ocean once was something. No, there is no such thing as an true end, only new beginnings.

So here is the end of a small part of a much greater story; here is the end of one Violet Hope Monday, who was born on a Monday and was a child of Monday. But with this end, there is the beginning of a new person, a new life. The "ended" life of Violet Monday may have had much potential; she may have done many amazing and great things, she would have scaled the highest peaks of economy, dived to the deepest depths of the oceans of emotion, soared through the skies of mind, but with its end, the life of another is born and given the same potential of success and failure. She might not reach the plateau, she may not be put on a pedestal and be admired but she will lead something new and be something different and create new beginnings for not just herself but others as well. This new person will be beginning itself, just as all human are. True, in time she will grow old and die but what of it? The ripples in life one creates often go past the simple end of Death. Endings are Death's realm; Beginnings are Life's. What more could anyone ask for?

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_Creepie Creecher_

_Born on a Monday…_


	2. Christened on Tuesday

**Disclaimer**: Yes, I own Growing up Creepie, in much the same way I own the capital of Nigeria, the Mona Lisa, and the Andromeda galaxy. Of course I don't own Growing up Creepie! Sheesh! How many disclaimers must I write to make it clear that I don't own anything of value whatsoever!

Sorry for deleting the original version of the story. I was having trouble trying to edit it on the site without deleting the story itself and putting the slightly changed version, but ultimately I found it wasn't worth the effort, so I just decided to delete it. Sorry if I caused any of my readers of this obscure fanfic any grief. Sorry!

…_Christened on Tuesday…_

Thankfully for the husband, his daughter was in good hands. In a manner of speaking… Her new caretaker's, her new family, didn't exactly have hands. More like uniramous/biramous limbs.

For, unknown to him, the inhabitants of the house sounded like insects crawling on the walls because they _were_ insects crawling on the walls.

None the less, they still cared for the infant, despite being many times smaller than the infant herself. The parents, a one Vincent and Caroleena Creecher, were at first a little hesitant about caring for such a large creature, but they quickly decided to take in young Violet in.

How couldn't they? Just because Caroleena had a habit to eat her mates of her own species and Vincent should only have a life span of about 2 weeks, didn't make them heartless beasts.

Caroleena was especially enthusiastic over the whole thing.

"A baby!" she breathed. She quickly walked over to the baby in the basket, and climbing up to the baby itself, she looked lovingly at the little darling's feet, while Vincent went to read the note that lay at the foot of the basket.

One of her thousands of adopted children, Paulie, bounced up to the baby and landed on her forehead.

"Mom, can keep it? Please?

Vincent somehow managed to open the letter, and opening it, read it aloud so that everyone else could listen. When he said that it was unsigned, Caroleena straightened up even more rigidly than her exoskeleton usually allowed and a look of shock briefly crossed her face. "Who could possibly abandon such a little, big cutie?" she thought.

Still, the infant had a cute charm to it that could warm the hearts of even the coldest hearts, and she quickly recovered

"Oh, Vincent. She's perfectly precious!" she said, her hand-like forelimbs gripping each other in a human-like manner.

Vincent flew over to his "love bug" and now looked more carefully at the baby human.

"We've never taken care of an infant this big before," he said, but glancing knowingly at his love, he finished, "but I'm sure we'll manage."

Quickly summoning the family to bring in their new daughter, who swiftly departed again, Violet crawled out of her basket and crawled up to these little green people that fascinated her so much. Caroleena and Vincent couldn't help but look with pride at their new adopted daughter.

"Oh, look at my adorable little creeper!" said Caroleena lovingly. "I know! Let's call her Creepie!

Violet, quickly renamed Creepie seemed to delight at this new name, so the two insects agreed at this new name. And so it became that Violet Brooks quickly became Creepie Creecher. Her life would never be the same again. Coincidently, she was renamed the day after her first birthday, on a Tuesday.

…_Christened on Tuesday…_

Yes, its painfully short and is direct take from the T.V. series, but I had to be specific about how she got her new name, and seeing as the series already beat me to the punch on how she got her name and I try to keep my stories in-line with the original series as much as possible, my hands were pretty much tied. If there's anyone to blame, blame the series creators. They stole the chance for others to write and describe Creepies' childhood before she visited the human world without contradicting the original series by making the 25th episode, Creepie Crawler! It's all their fault! I'm such a prick, for scapegoat this all to them, aren't I!


	3. Married on Wednesday

Disclaimer: If I owned the Growing up Creepie series, would I be wasting my time writing fan fiction on it, rather than working as hard as I could to make more of the series? No, no I wouldn't.

Please review! And check out and review my other stories as well, you could please?

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_Married on Wednesday, _

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She looked at herself in a mirror, admiring the beautiful lacy ivory bridal gown that fitted so nicely to her good figure. She briefly mourned that the dress wasn't ebony-black, but the bridal store didn't sell any bridal gowns in black; the only things they sold in black were fitted exclusively for funerals and she wasn't about to imply that sort of thing, in her wedding of all places.

And after all, the dress still looked nice. She was marrying someone for all the right reasons; she was marrying for love, unlike other people, who often married for sex, money and other various reasons. The fact that Skipper had a steady income was only a bonus.

She glanced to the right of the mirror and caught a glance of the maid of honor, Chris-Alice Hollyruller, who beamed right back at her.

"Oh, Creepie! I'm so happy that you're happy!" said the bright, perky woman of 28 years. Her bright marigold dress and the sunflower on right breast reflected her persistently buoyant personality.

"Today's your wedding day! Whee!" she squealed. "And to Tarantula Boy, no less! Oh, oops, sorry! I mean Skipper, heh heh. It's just that I'm so jealous! I wish it was my wedding day too." There was a very mild drop of sheer cheer in this last sentence, which could have went unnoticed by anyone stranger. Creepie, however, was no such stranger to Chris' moods.

A modest grin crept on her face and before Chris could even react, Creepie spun on her heels and pulled her friend in a full armed embrace. A faint blush grew like wildfire on Chris' face; it wasn't every day Creepie so much as smiled so widely as it was that she actually had intimate contact with someone. Such an event was so rare that it could even be called an "event."

"Chris-Alice," Creepie said, pulling herself just enough out of the hug so that she could she the utter conviction that rung not just in Creepie's eyes and voice but from her very soul, "you are the last who would ever need to worry about getting married. I'm certain that one day soon you'll find some special man who'll love you every day for the rest of your life. That's a promise."

"Ooh, Creepie! Thank you, thank you, thank you! No one's ever said anything that nice to me before! Thank you!" she said, pulling Creepie into her own death-action grip hug.

This hug lasted for some time, which again normally wouldn't have bothered Creepie as much as other people who weren't familiar with Chris-Alice's policies, but it did have a certain quality to it that made Creepie ever so uncomfortable. However, due to her lifetime experience with a reserved personality, she was able to hide it quite well. She was even managed to find a small spark of mischief in her that ordinarily was never there.

Pulling herself up to Chris-Alice's ear, Creepie managed to whisper, "Or young woman. You may make a young woman very happy one day," before pulling herself from the hug and taking a step back or two and waited for the fireworks.

"WHAT?!" cried Chris-Alice. "What do you mean by 'or young woman,' Creepie?!"

"I'm just saying that I think that you may like women as much as you like guys, is all," she said. Turning her back on Chris, Creepie went to a small desk that stood to the right of the mirror and pulled out a brush from its top drawer. Taking it, she began to brush her multi-colored hair. Chris-Alice gapped at Creepie, before she set her jaw on edge. Her eyes hardened like a cold steel blade. How could her best friend ever say anything like _this_ to her? How could she ever say something so… cruel. 'Is she toying with my emotions now?' Cause if she is, I'll…I'll…

"So you're saying that I'm bi-, Creepie. That's what you're saying to me, right? Cause if that's what you're saying, you'd better have a good explanation for thinking such a thing about me." A vat of freezing liquid nitrogen was warmer than Chris' voice sounded now.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying Chris-Alice. As for an explanation, do I seriously have to explain your own emotions to you? It's the truth, just accept; you'd be happier if you did," said Creepie Creecher.

"Is that so." If pit vipers could talk, not even their acid tongues could match Chris-Alice's.

Placing the brush back on the dresser, she turned and was hit with Chris' uncharacteristically 100 kilowatt death stare. To say that she didn't even flinch would be lie but she did manage to do it ever so subtly that Chris-Alice almost missed it entirely. For a second, Creepie couldn't even find her voice. But since her life perhaps relied on her next few words, Creepie captured her tongue and put it back in her mouth.

"You don't have to overreact like that, you know. I really wouldn't mind it if you were bisexual, Chris. You're my friend, and I'll stick by you no matter which gender you're sexually attracted to. What is it my business to judge you just for who you want to play around with in bed?" she said with minimal cracks in her voice.

Chris-Alice didn't even hear Creepie's last sentence, her barely concealed anger deafening her ears from everything but an actual explanation.

"Tell me why you think that I'm bi. _**Now**_."

"What? Now?" asked Creepie.

Chris-Alice's glaring expression left no room to argue. It was either this or nothing; anything else would simply end in a friendship ending fight to the finish.

"Damn! Why does she always have to be so stubborn. Oh, wait, I remember: she's a Hollyruller and Hollyruller's 'always win.' I almost forgot," thought Creepie bitterly to herself. Creepie sighed. 'Oh well, if it had to come out, now was as good as a time as any.'

Sighing again, Creepie explained. "Oh, ignoring the fact that we had a very _intimate_ moment just a second ago, I seen how you are, how you look at women, and sometimes even me. Don't think that I haven't noticed those second glances you give to women just as much as you do to men; maybe even more so."

"That doesn't mean anything!" pointedly argued Chris-Alice pointlessly. The ice was beginning to melt and what was buried underneath it was a underground volcano of years of suppressed feelings and emotions of sexual frustration which, if not dealt carefully with, could erupt into a sea of emotional backwash that would totally ruin the mood of the wedding. It was Creepie's time to shine, not Chris-Alice's and Creepie wasn't going to have _her_ day ruined by _anyone_.

"So what if I think that some other girls are attractive, huh?" Chris-Alice continued. "Anyone can be forgiven for looking twice at someone if they think they're attractive. Guys can admit that they think other guys are handsome (A/N: No. No, we can't), why not girls? Huh, huh!? Explain to me that!"

Creepie tried to open her mouth to explain but did so in vain; Chris' was on a roll and it could take a while before she could actually insert her own end of the conversation.

"And is it so wrong to think differently than other people, huh!? Not everyone's the same as everyone else! Some people have other thoughts other than marriage is a sacred bond between a man and a woman, never two girls or two guys!!! Why should love be restricted to between one gender?! Everyone should be able to love each other regardless of gender! If a guy loves another guy, why should his happiness be denied when a pair of the opposite gender can have it, eh!? Is that fair!? Is that right!? Nooo, it isn't and its hypocritical to say otherwise!!!"

Creepie mentally rolled her eyes. She didn't have time for this. She had a wedding to get to.

'Might as well take the plunge now,' she thought.

So taking her hands with unnatural speed, Creepie gripped the back of Chris-Alice's head and pulled her into a deep, long kiss on the lips.

This naturally surprised Chris-Alice a bit, but she quickly warmed up to it, and gave back as much passion as Creepie gave, if not more so. She even managed to get her tongue into Creepie's mouth and touch the tip of her "friend's" tongue before Creepie pulled out of it just as quickly as it had begun.

Overall, it had been a short, pert kiss, with minimal tongue; in anyone else, it could hardly be counted as a kiss at all. But it meant the world to Chris-Alice and proved Creepie's point in the efficient way possible.

Creepie smugly at Chris-Alice, eyebrow cocked.

"Well, does that prove my point?" she asked almost arrogantly. Hopefully that convinced Chris-Alice and settled this whole affair.

Chris-Alice, suddenly conscious about her appearance, attempted to fix her own gown, her cheeks burning red with embarrassment. It seemed the best thing to do; it was the only thing she could do with her hands, patting down her dress and trying to get imaginary wrinkles out. Otherwise, she could have only rung them nervously together, which wouldn't help her lost case; or even worse, she could have found _other ways_ of using them, ways that could have ruined the marriage completely.

"Th-that doesn't prove…any…anything," stuttered nervously Chris-Alice, her face a deep fuchsia. However, when Creepie turned and gave her a death-glare, all self-denial ran out of her like the frightened virgin that was Chris' very soul. After all, as much as Creepie was okay with the kiss and as much as she didn't care about her friend's sexual orientation, or anyone's for that matter, she did not want to put off her wedding by another second.

"S-so I'm bi," admitted Chris-Alice with a flushed face. "So what of it? I can be bi if I want to be. And no one can tell me other wise," she

"I never said you couldn't be," said Creepie, almost reprimanding her friend. "If you had been listening to me before instead of lost in your anger, you would have heard that I'm okay with it. What's sexual preference among friends, right? I couldn't care less if you liked girls as much as guys, if not more so. I wouldn't even care if you suddenly grew ant antennae and butterfly wings overnight! Well, actually I'd probably be jealous of that last part but still, you get my point. So I repeat: _**I'm okay with it Chris-Alice!**_ And so will everyone else be, whenever you decide to tell them about it!"

Chris-Alice blushed. She had never been so happy before in her life. Her real thoughts and feelings had finally been laid bare by someone and that someone had accepted her regardless. 'Oh god,' Chris-Alice thought. 'I think I'm going to cry.'

"T-thank you Creepie," she said in a breath, pulling Creepie into another loving if crushing death-grip. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. I know you've heard me say it too many times today but really, thank you. Is there anything I can do for you in thanks for everything you've done?"

"Y-yes," said strangled Creepie Creecher, whose eyes were bugging out of her head more than usual. "You can… stop… choking me…"

"What? Oh- oh!" exclaimed Chris-Alice, who suddenly noticed that Creepie's face had gone a pale shade of blue. Releasing Creepie, the bride nearly fell to the floor, gagging on her own spit.

"Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry!!" apologized Chris-Alice. "Sorry! I guess I don't know my own strength!"

With Chris-Alice's help, Creepie was helped into a chair.

"It's… okay, Chris-Alice," choked out Creepie. A friendly smile spread on her face. It seemed as if she could do nothing but smile today. "No worries. Just don't do it again, okay?"

"Deal!" agreed Chris-Alice, her usual cheery mood setting itself back down. Just then, a knock on the door opposite them came.

"Creepie? Chris-Alice? It's time," whispered Carla Cabrera through the door, one of the other 5 bridesmaids of Creepie's. "Everyone's waiting! Time to get your asses in gear girls!"

"C-coming!" shouted Chris-Alice happily, before turning to Creepie.

"Let's go, Creepie!" she said, lifting up Creepella by her wrist. Creepie nodded, but before Chris opened the door, Creepie put her hand on Chris' shoulder.

"Just a suggestion, Chris: how about we don't tell anyone about our little kissing session, okay?" asked Creepie. "Wouldn't want my man to think he has competition in you, right?"

Chris-Alice's smirk was answer enough.

"Agreed. So long as you don't tell my parent's I'm bi. They'll freak out as it when I tell them! Having someone else tell them would just be too much!" said Chris-Alice understandably, before opening the door.

"What were you guys talking about?" asked Carla.

When the two actually made to answer her, she said, "Never mind, no time. Chris, you have to get in line with the other bridesmaids. And Creepie, as we all know, your father is off on absolutely necessary business, right? So you'll have to make do with the next guy we could find: Chris-Alice's father. Okay?"

Both Creepie and Chris-Alice nodded. As much as she wanted to tell everyone the truth about her family, Creepie had to admit that she still couldn't find it in her to tell everyone about her family yet. She had gotten to the point to tell Chris-Alice and a few other friends, Raven, Misery Whispers and Morpheus, people she could absolutely trust with her life, but besides them, her family secret still eluded everyone else. Sure, it was hard to have everyone think that her father was the sort of uptight business man who would miss even his only daughter's wedding day, but it was just something she had to live with. As for the rest of her family… well, they had all agreed to dress up her "mother" again, except this time they had to wear the appropriate wedding wear and thus only those of her family whose endoskeleton's that could match the whiteness of the dress could attend directly. The rest of them had to watch in the corners, crevices and shadows of the cathedral.

"Now," said Carla to Creepie, as she pulled Chris-Alice away with her, "You just wait here for Mr. Hollyruller to come, Creepie. Understand?"

Creepie nodded, and waited in solitude. Shortly, Mr. Hollyruller came through a nearby door and walked up to Creepie. Creepie pulled out of her usual forward slouch when she saw him.

"Well, hello there, Miss Bride-To-Be! How are you?" asked George, giving Creepie a affectionate pat on the back. Out of all Chris' friends, Creepie may have been the weirdest, but she seemed like a decent enough girl when you got to know her and George Hollyruller wasn't one to deny anyone his friendship just because they seemed a bit _odd_.

"Oh, just fine, Mr. Hollyruller. Just getting married soon is all. Everything is peachy-keen!" said Creepie just a bit nervously.

Smiling kindly, George put his hand on Creepie's shoulder warmly.

"It's alright. Don't worry; it's okay to be nervous. Heck, I remember my wedding; I was sweating out buckets! Getting married to Bunny was probably the one time in my life that I truly afraid! Ha!" he said, bragging at his so-called "fearlessness." Creepie held back her usual eye roll. Men would be men.

"But, all the same, it's okay to be nervous. So long as you feel that this is the right thing to do, as long as this is truly what your heart is telling you to do, then everything will be okay in the end," George Hollyruller finished, patting Creepie on the shoulder. For a slightly creepy goth friend of his daughter's, this girl wasn't so bad.

"Thanks, Mr. Hollyruller. That really helps me. Really, it does," genuinely thanked Creepie, as they went through the doors into the main church hall. For a loud, beef-headed, overly-competitive homophobic insect-killer, he wasn't that bad of a guy. So long as he didn't kill her family, she might begin to like him.

The sound of a church organ started to drift into the small room right before the actual cathedral room. The door in front of them opened and the two, as mismatched as they appeared, entered the hall with as much grace as the other did.

As the two walked, hand on elbow crook, Creepie glanced out of the corner of her eye and scanned through the guests, to see who had come. To the left, she saw just about everyone she had ever known in the small town of Middlington, which included everyone from a matured Harry Helby, whose classic narcissistic personality had only expanded when, as predicted, he got even sexier as he got older, to Dr. Pappas, her former middle/high school teacher, to Ms. Monseratte, her ancient middle/high school principal/guidance counselor.

Turning to the right, she saw other familiar faces, Misery Whispers (whose hair was even more unnecessarily longer than before) and Morpheus (who had only gotten bigger and beefier with the onset of puberty), as well as Chris-Alice's mom and Budge's parents, and some unfamiliar faces. Sitting in the very back of the cathedral, Creepie had seen a suspicious looking blob of white bridal wear that simply had to Skipper's mother. No one else Creepie knew could wear four pairs of shoes at once and yet make it look so _good_.

Quite frankly, Creepie was still surprised how easy it had been to explain away Marge's enormous size and unusual leg count. They had said, with utter resolution, that Marge simply suffered from a enlarged thyroid gland, which seemed to work. Her legs were a… mutation, of a sort. And to be on the safe side, the two had said that she had a dangerous, contagious disease that transferred through skin-to-skin contact, which left Marge with the last 5 church rows for room. She tried not to move too much, in fear of accidentally tearing the dress off and ruining the entire event.

But otherwise, she seemed quite content, and was in fact beaming as only a mother could at her "first born's" wedding. She was so happy that her little Skipper was finally getting married, despite her past fears that he might never find a suitable mate who would love him for who he truly was and treat him as he should be treated and have his head bitten and eaten off as any proper male should after the first conception (Marge had been a good mother to Skipper and had done her best to try and understand human customs, but there's only so many things about a giant arachnid can learn about human mating rituals without stopping mid-way and just assuming the rest of it is just like every other insect's reproductive cycle, i.e. sexual cannibalism. Marge had merely carried her own species understanding of mating rituals into human's).

And right there, in the very front row, was a vaguely human-shape dressed from head to toe in white wedding garb. Its face obsurced by a heavy veil, the thing looked human enough to pass off any unfocused human inspection. Still, while it did looked human_ish_, there was a subtle aura that came off the thing that gave most of everyone a unexplainable desire to take a long hot bath.

When the Creepie and George reached the top of the isle, Creepie let go of George's elbow, and turning to him, she gave him a brief hug before practically skipping up the steps to the top of the alter, where stood both the priest and her groom, Skipper.

To the right stood his best man and his groomsmen, Budge and other obscure faces she had never bothered to remember, and to the left stood her bridesmaids, Chris-Alice, Carla, Melanie, Raven and another vague face, a friend of Carla's and Melanie's presumably.

Creepie heard a little buzzing sound, coming from the ceiling. Looking up, Creepie saw a few insects crawling on the ceiling, and a small mosquito hovering above her. She smiled to herself.

"So they're here after all," she thought. Fighting an urge to look around for her mother and the rest of her insect family, she instead focused back to the present.

She turned and looked into Skipper's eyes, as he did the same. The priest, who had been hanging in the back of the alter, came up to them, and smiling at these two children of our Lord, he began to read the official writes.

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered together here in the sign of God…" the elderly priest began.

"You look beautiful," Skipper said lovingly. He was getting married, and to this little, prefect insect-goddess." Let me repeat: I'M GETTTING MARRIED!!" He still couldn't believe how lucky he was, almost as much as he couldn't believe how happy he was at that moment.

"- and in the face of this company – to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony…" the priest continued.

"So they tell me," replied Creepie knowingly, barely holding back a small giggle.

Skipper looked quizzically at her, to whom she said, "Never mind. You don't want to know. You really don't want to know," she said, shaking her head no before he even got a word out, now lightly laughing at nothing in particular, it seemed.

"…, which is commended to be honorable among all men, and therefore - is not by any – to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly – but reverently, discreetly, advisedly and solemnly…"said the priest

Wisely choosing to ignore Creepie's little comment; Skipper just looked admiringly at his soon-to-be wife. Creepie decided to do the same.

Creepella Creecher, formerly Violet Monday, had fallen in love. She didn't know when it happened. It just did. Somehow, Skipper had managed to capture her heart without her even noticing. Yes, she had always had an attraction to Skipper, ever since she had first seen him at that horribly exploitive Carnival show, but not like she had now. She would do anything for him, climb the highest mountain, dive into the deepest sea, even mount against the very gates of Hell itself, for him. She was utterly, irrevocably, in love with him, and he felt the same, she just knew it.

"…Into this holy estate these two persons present now come to be joined," rambled on the irritating priest. How badly he wanted to kiss those lips as husband and wife!

"If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together," said this dammed priest. Why is this taking so long! I just want

"– let them speak now or forever hold their peace," finished the priest, at last.

If anyone in that room had even thought of speaking against this wedding, these thoughts were immediately crushed by the sheer force of will that both Creepie and Skipper gave off that, if it had a physical quality to it, would have reduced the speaker to a small, messy red splotch on the floor.

"No? Very well then. If no one had any objections to this union, we shall now exchange vows.

Turning to Skipper, the priest asked:

"Do you, Skipper Allen Jr., take this women, Creepella Creecher, to be your wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you two part?"

"I do," said Skipper with the sort of rock-hard conviction you can break jaws on.

Now turning to Creepie, the priest unnecessarily continued: "And do you, Creepella Creecher, take this man, Skipper Allen Jr., to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do you two part?"

"I do," agreed Creepie without an ounce of hesitation in her voice.

"Then you may kiss the bride," said the priest, taking a step backwards.

The two took on last step closer to each other, and they both kissed each other.

It would be poetic to say that the hearts of the two fluttered and paused for a beat from the sheer shock of pleasure and happiness that this kiss brought. It would be poetic to say that all those in the cathedral took a gasp of breath from the sheer amount of heat that the two were giving off. It would be poetic to say that the kiss made it feel as if all time stopped, that the rotation of the Earth slowed, as if all of existence ceased moving for one second to look upon this passionate kiss between these newlyweds.

But that would be poetic and highly romantic, and as we all know, every romance eventually ends with great sadness, so it is with a heavy heart that I say that is exactly what happened.

Their hearts did indeed flutter and skip a beat and simply soared. Everyone in the room gasped from the sheer amount of passionate heat that they gave off. Time didn't exactly stop, nor did the Earth stop rotating, but at the least, a small part of existence stopped doing whatever it is that existence does and did watch the two kiss. And it smiled, as much of the way that faceless existence can smile. They were married on a Wednesday.

The two broke from the kiss, and looking lovingly at each other, they went in for another kiss, which was more passionate than the last one, and if Chris-Alice and Budge hadn't pulled the two apart, right then and there, they would have made passionate virgin love on that very alter.

Fortunately for the priest, neither his alter or his church wasn't desacralized by the two, who quickly pulled themselves together, and invited everyone to the reception hall for food and drinks, they did every sort of thing that one does at weddings: they were toasted to their good health and a happy future, they ate from the banquet that they had ordered from a local catering company, they danced and sang, and had a rather good time with family and friends. They even went so far as to drink their first bottle of liquor for the first time in their young lives.

However, like all good things, the party eventually winded down. By eleven o'clock or so, all the guests were either all partied out or too smashed to even cognitive any thought beyond the fact that they were stoned drunk and happy of it and 'oh, look at what I can do with my hand! Whee!' Quite frankly, it was the sort of scene that no one wants to clean after or remember the next morning.

As for the newlyweds, who were perhaps the most inebriated of everyone at the party, they were driven home with Chris-Alice, who, ever the temperate one, was the only person in the entire after-wedding celebration who had avoided every last drop of liquid vice and amber.

Arriving to their newly purchased home, which bore an uncanny resemblance to the old Dweezwold place, Chris-Alice all but dragged them into their bedroom, and laid them in their new bed. And that would have been the end of that, if she hadn't spared her friend's one last look of shared happiness, which gave a drunken Creepie enough to unthinkingly pull onto the bed and under the covers with her and Skipper.

And, when the two married ones woke up the next morning with their brains dizzied with pain and their hearts dulled by sleep, found that there was a third person in the bed, it caused, well… let's just say that it was a night that was officially not to remember. Ever, ever again. Under the penalty of death, it was agreed it never happened on this or any other sphere. Period. End of story. Bye-bye.

But still, through it all, when Chris-Alice would later not remember that night, many years later, it would be warm, happy not memories and not a full, satisfied grin.

* * *

…_Married on a Wednesday…_


	4. Took ill on Thursday

**Disclaimer**: Do I really have to say it anymore, boss? They already know what I'm about to say! It's pointless by now to do it anyway! (Boss man appears, a giant, looming bear of a man. In fear, author shudders involuntarily). Okay. I'll say it: I do not own Growing up Creepie, or anything that relates even remotely to it.

Hey, everyone! Um, sorry about the whole not updating-thing. I'm going to try to put up every chapter as quickly as I can. Hopefully, I'll have it up by the end of November. And I put emphasis on the word "Hopefully." (Sigh) Everything is just messed up, isn't it?

* * *

…_Took ill on Thursday…_

Do you know what its like to see the face of a loved one slowly change day by day, as the light in their eyes gradually fades and one day is no more? Do you know what is to have to sit back and watch, as your wife/husband's memories slip from their minds, which become the mental equivalent of pudding, and be unable to do anything about it? Do you have any idea what it is like to have to live with such a person, someone you cared so deeply for, and have to treat them as an infant, and live like that for the rest of your life?

Thankfully, this has nothing to do with the story in the very least, but someone is about to fall "ill" very, very, _very_ soon.

Creepie was out on a run, jogging through her neighborhood, with her best friend Chris-Alice and her partner, Emily. The three had taken up running just

recently, at Chris-Alice's insistence. "Running is good for the heart, lungs and soul!" had become the motto.

Chris was, as always, in the front, while Creepie was a close second behind her, running as softly as she possibly could, in case of a bug underfoot. Emily sluggishly dragged herself along, about 30 feet behind the two, who, while she was quite talented in most other sports, she lacked Chris-Alice's and Creepie's inhuman endurance.

The sun hung low in the sky. Dusk was fast approaching. The bright orb gave off one last burst of summer heat before falling from the sky, to rise again the next day, as it has always has, ever since time began.

"You can do it, Emma! Come on, this is fun! It's just another 3 miles, then we're done!" cried out Chris-Alice, looking back at the love of her life.

Emily abruptly stopped running, trying to catch her breath. Her long, jet-black hair fell to her side, which was just begging to be cut down to size.

"You two keep going! (*Pant pant*) I'll… (*pant pant*) catch up with you (*pant*) later!" Emily called out across the distance. Her lungs were on fire, she was sweating up a storm and it felt as if her heart was trying to break free from its moorings and jump out of her chest. She had never thought that hell would be so much "fun."

Chris-Alice too stopped running, concerned.

"You sure?" she asked, dismally.

"Yeah! I'll see you at (*pant*) home, okay?" She couldn't hear Chris-Alice's wistful tone over the sound of her heart thumping in her ears.

"Oh, all right. See you there, then," said Chris-Alice disappointedly. But, being herself, she recovered magnificently.

"Come on, Creepie! Time's a wasting!" she said, acting as if she didn't care.

Creepie simply nodded, and continued onward, while Emily headed back home at an unsteady pace, exhausted beyond all belief.

The two ran on for a little while in silence. Creepie said nothing as usual because, well, she had nothing to say anything at the moment, but with Chris, Chris just couldn't stand to speak. Creepie frowned.

Chris had had her heart set on taking jogging up as a hobby, along with her karate lessons. Since she was not a kid anymore and not as an airheaded bimbo to become a "professional cheerleader," she instead had taken up her mother's job, and was a real estate agent.

The problem was that she didn't share all too many hobbies with Chris. Yes, they often did thing together, but they didn't do them _together_. It seemed, to Chris, that whenever they did something together that it was either Emily's thing or her thing; they didn't actually _share_ a hobby, and this fact always got her down.

A tear trickled down Chris' face, but she wiped it away as quickly as it appeared. She didn't want to start that now; no, she had her dignity and she wouldn't lose it, while she was running and in public. No, that would come later, when she was more alone and less vulnerable.

Creepie noticed that Chris wiping her face off and correctly guessed that Chris had started to cry. She sighed. How she _hated_ to see Chris cry. She wasn't one for such open emotions and didn't know if she could be of service or not, but mostly she did not like to see Chris-Alice sad. It was seeing a cold, lost and dying puppy on your front porch: you wanted SO much to help it, but you know that you can't save it. All you can do is ease its pain until the end.

The two finally reached their destination, a local ice cream shop, and entered the building; both proceeded to reconsume the calories they had burned during the run, three times over.

They ate their sundaes, again, in silence. The air had a light tension to it; not enough to make it unbearable, but enough to make Creepie uncomfortable. Creepie tried, in vain, to ignore it. As much as she cared for Chris-Alice, she didn't want to be pulled into Chris' martial problems _again_. She wasn't a good shoulder to cry on. Consoling anyone wasn't her thing. Making them even more uncomfortable with her eccentric behavior, now, that was her thing. Besides, it's probably nothing-

Chris burst out into tears, which started to melt her ice cream. Creepie sighed. "Here we go again…" she thought, as Chris embraced her in a slight death grip and started to soak her jogging outfit with her tears.

"How, how, how can Emily just leave us like that!" Chris-Alice, her entire body racked with grief and disappointment. So much for dignity. It was only a mercy that there was no the customers in the shop, just a pimple-faced employee was too busy playing his air guitar while listening to his IPod to notice Chris' condition.

Creepie, at a loss, gently patted her on the top of her head.

"There, there," she said hesitantly. "Everything's going to be all right…" saying the exact same lines everyone on every plane of reality says to someone when they can't think of anything to say to comfort them.

"B-b-b-but, I wanted it to be something fun! I wanted us to hang out more together! Sometimes, sometimes it seems that the only, only time that I see her is in, in, in, in…" was as far as Chris-Alice got before she started to cry out again, her words turning into whiny gibberish.

This was bad. Chris could go on like this for hours, and Creepie couldn't listen to her friend go on and on about this. But, she couldn't just leave Chris-Alice in the middle of her grieving. She cared too much for the girl, however painfully bright and cheerful she could be sometimes.

Fortunately for Creepie, Chris finished crying in record time: 20 minutes. It may take a lot to make Chris-Alice cry, but when she does cry, it comes down in bucketfuls.

"There now, feeling a little bit better?" asked Creepie with a small smile, thanking any gods present for ending this disaster. Chris couldn't say anything without the fear of crying again, so she nodded silently.

"Okay then. Let's get out of here, shall we?" said Creepie, grabbing her friends arm off the table, and leading her from the table, the two went to the cash register and paid for their desserts and left the shop, out into the dark warmth of a summer night.

They walked in silence, in the pale darkness of dusk, to Chris-Alice's home. The street lights had turned on and gave everything a shallow, eerie orange glow. It was cooler out now, the heat of the day having been pulled from the Earth like a thin shroud.

"Aw, we missed the sunset," mourned Creepie, looking at the remains of daylight, a mere blue-violet shade that was to pass all too quickly.

"We can catch the next one," said Chris-Alice comfortably, her previous mood having been pushed down for later, for when she and Emily could discuss it more in length. "There's always a next one. That's what life's all about, right? Remember Creepie, there's always tomorrow!"

"I guess so," said Creepie, not really paying attention to Chris-Alice anymore. She was beginning to feel a little sick, maybe woozy? Was it just her, or was everything beginning to go…fuzzy? A fog? No, the weather had been painfully bright all day, and besides, it's summer! But, why does it feel as if everything is faintly…spinning?

Unfortunately for Creepie, Chris-Alice didn't notice her friend's predicament and thought nothing but the talk she would have to have with Emily this night.

The two soon came to Chris-Alice's home, a picturesque two story house with perfect white walls and pink window frames, flower beds that hang on the porch fence and bright yellow curtains which were visible the outside. It was, altogether, a cookie-cutter version of what people today imagine a 1950's house looked like.

The porch lamp was light, which gave Chris-Alice the small pang in her heart for those that are reminded that they are indeed remembered and cared for by their loved ones.

The two women came to the door, and Chris-Alice, opening the door with her house key, was beset by two adorable if snot-faced monsters.

"Mommy, mommy!" shouted the first little monster childishly, who had short blond hair with a gap between her two front teeth. "Anna took Miss

Tinkle Bottom and she won't give her back!"

"Nu-huh!" protested the second little monster, shaking her little red haired head. "Cathy's lying! She's **always** lying! She just los-ted her dollie and is blaming it on me! So, she took my "Little Miss Princess Tea Party" set!

Chris-Alice, giving her children a tired smile, bent down and said, "What am I going to do with the two of you?"

She picked both girls in her arms and carried them into the living room, where a one Emily Hollyruller was found, lying on a couch, exhausted, a veritable corpse. Creepie, not wanting to intrude but also not wanting to appear too distant, came in and stood in the walkway, a wasteland of old, ratted shoes, toddler and adult alike.

Chris looked down at the light in her life, gently put the children back on their own feet, bent down and teasingly wiggled Emily's big toe. Emily, as exhausted as she was, couldn't hold back a small giggle, her feet being as sensitive as they were.

"What?" she said, a smile gracing her beautiful face.

"Come on, the kids are going to bed and it's your turn to read tonight's bedtime story," Chris-Alice explained.

"What!? I did it last night! And the day before!" said Emily, clearly outraged.

"Yes, but you do it so well!" Chris' moaned, begging Emily to read their children their nightly bedtime story.

At this point, however, the children's ears picked up a vital detail in the conversation and said, once again in unison, "Bed? We're not going to bed! We

don't want to! We want to stay up longer!" they protested.

The two partners turned to their offspring and said in perfect unison, "You two **will** go to bed, and you will go to sleep! You'll thank us in the morning."

"Aw, mom! Do we have to?" whined the children to either Chris-Alice or Emily or perhaps both. They couldn't tell which one was which, frankly. To them, it had always been such a quandary. After all, no one else they knew of had 2 parents of the same gender; they wouldn't understand words like "lesbian," or "bisexual," even if they had a dictionary. It was confusing for them to know that everyone else they know had only one mommy and even a daddy. Or sometimes, just a mommy. Or a daddy. And, in one case, neither.

"Yes," said Emily simply, choosing to ignore their children's indecision. "Now, march!"

Watching them as they went, ruefully slow, Chris-Alice called out to them as they walked through the hallway to their shared bedroom. "Remember to brush your teeth before you go to bed!"

The children, wisely choosing not to argue, turned to the door to their left, a bedroom bathroom, which connected to their bedroom through another, stuck door.

Turning to Creepie, Chris-Alice added, "Sorry Creepie, I've got to take care of the kids. Thanks for walking me home. Kids, say good bye to Aunt Creepie, okay?"

Susanna and Catherine turned sullenly around, mad as only a 7 year old can get, and as if noticing their "Aunt Creepie" for the first time, the twin's mouths curled up into bright, sunny smiles. They just _loved_ "Aunt Creepie," even if she seemed little, well, creepy at times.

"Bye Auntie Creepie! See you tomorrow!" Chris-Alice's children said in unison, who for all the world looked like two little twin angels.

Creepie, who had become rather fidgety while watching this lovely family scene break out, was grateful to be excused out. She replied with an equally sincere farewell, and waving good-bye as she walked down the Hollyruller's drive-way, she walked back home in the dark.

By now, the sun had already shown its last light, leaving the Moon, a full silver-white dollar coin that hung in the mild night air,, and the stars to reclaim the sky once more, as they had a thousand and more times before.

Some people would suggest that the idea of a young, attractive woman walking alone in the dark to be just begging for trouble. In that case, Creepie was lucky that Middleton had one of the lowest crime rates in the district; the highest crime ever committed in this town, except perhaps a certain lack of tasteful art museums, was the high treason that it had committed against the Union, in the time of the Civil War. But, that entire aside, Creepie was not bothered by the lack of light. She was accustomed to the dark. It was her home away from home.

Walking home, which was a meager 10 blocks away, Creepie decided to take a short cut through a nearby alley. That was when things got bad.

Creepie, who had begun to feel more normal at Chris-Alice's house, was really feeling unwell now. Sick would be an even better word now.

Again, everything was becoming foggy and shaky. Creepie struggled to stand up, but the world was spinning all around her and her legs were becoming weaker by the second. It was as if she was inside a crystal ball: the ground always uneven, the walls refracting the light, making all murky and vague. Creepie turned her gaze to something, anything, to try to gain onto some semblance of control on her grip of the world. Her eyes fell onto a trash can, but soon, her vision of it faltered; in fact, she was seeing two of them. She tried to call out for help, but her tongue wouldn't move in her mouth. Her body began to shake against her will. The ground seemed to shift underneath her feet, and Creepie fell to the ground.

"Wow, I never knew that concrete could ever feel so soft." Creepie thought, as darkness descended upon her. "I wonder why I never realized this before. Is it just me, or does everyone know that concrete is so soft? If I had known that the ground was _this_ soft, then I'd never get up. Never."

And that is the last thing Creepie Creecher thinks about, before she fades into a sea of black darkness.

And now Creepie Creecher is lying on a bed, unconscious. She begins to regain consciousness. Her eyes flutter open; everything is blurry and unfocused. At first, she thinks that she is still in the alley, but then things begin to focus and soon she could see everything as clear as day.

It was clear that she was in some type of room, one with glazed white walls and cold tiles. To her right, there are a few cabinets, which are all locked.

Her head, stiff as a board, won't allow her to turn her head left without extreme pain, so she focuses more on cabinets. They are a plain gray and as dull as you could make cabinets. But, one does catch her eye: it was a light crimson cabinet, separate from the others. On it's from was a hazard symbol, the type that Creepie rarely saw outside a doctor's office.

"I'm… in a hospital?" she asked aloud.

"Ah! Awake, are we? Yes, we are in a hospital, Mrs. Creecher. North Middleton Hospital, in fact," said a white-haired gentleman in a white coat carrying a brown clip board, who suddenly strolled into the room. "Feeling better, are you?

"Excuse me?" Creepie said, turning her head left to see the stranger, forgetting for a moment her neck troubles. A shot of pain ran down from her brain and hit the rest of her body. She winces and puts her hand to her neck, but holds back a groan.

The doctor, an observant man, said, "I'll take as a no then," and started to write on his clip board. "Now, if you would kindly relax, I will do a check up to see how you doing."

"Alright," said Creepie, and the doctor began to check her pulse.

Creepie sat in silence for a while, but soon the question burst out of her.

"Not to be a pest or anything, but could you tell me what I'm doing here?" asked Creepie, as the Doctor shone a light in her eye.

"Oh, you fainted in an alleyway some miles from here from heat stroke. The heat got to you and you probably would have died, if it weren't for your friend, Mrs.' Melisma and Cabrera. It seems that they had gone together for an evening stroll and happened upon you. The rest, as they say, is history."

"Really?" asked Creepie.

"Wow, I never thought that Melanie and Carla would ever turn out to be my saviors. Does this mean that I'll have to start liking them more?" Creepie thought before it hit her like a raging 5 ton semi-trailer truck.

"Skipper! Where's Skipper!"

"Hm? Oh, you mean Mr. Creecher? He's right beside you," said the Doctor casually.

Creepie turned her head left again and ignored the pain. In a chair that lay right beside her bed, was a sleeping Skipper. Creepie's eyes began to water ever so.

"He stayed by your side through the entire night. Oh yes, you probably want to know what time it is, don't you?" said the Doctor.

"That and where the cafeteria is. It feels as if a tarantula is gnawing away at my insides," complained Creepie, who started to shake Skipper awake.

"Huh? What's happening- Creepie? You're awake! God, I'm so glad!" said Skipper, who lifted his wife out of the bed and put her in a heartwarming death grip.

"S-skipper! You're choking the life out of me!" said Creepie, her face blue.

"Oh, sorry!" said Skipper, placing his wife back on the bed.

"Yes, its better that you hear this too," said the Doctor. "It would only be worse if you two heard it separately."

"Hear what?" asked Creepie and Skipper worriedly.

"Well, I got some good news and some bad news folks," started the Doctor. "The good news is that you should be alright with your case of heat stroke. You shouldn't get up now and should try to take in as much fluids as you can stand; and we'll probably have to hold you over tonight for observation, just in case, but aside from that, you're alright in that area."

"Well, that's good," said Skipper.

Creepie shushed him. "And the bad news?"

"Heh heh heh," laughed the Doctor nervously, rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably, his clipboard limply at this side

"What is it?" demanded Creepie.

"Well, erm, I don't really know how to say this so that you won't panic, so, uh, here goes: you have cancer. A brain tumor, to be more precise. We noticed it in the emergency room, when your life was at critical risk, but couldn't do anything about it then because of the hyperthermia, but there's no need to worry; we caught it close enough that it shouldn't be too much trouble to you, and given your age and fair if troubled health at the moment, we can perform surgery in the next few days when you fully recover. Granted, it is also possible even after an apparently successful surgery that it might grow back in time, but so long as you continue to check up with us every few months or so, we'll be able to monitor any changes inside your head. There's also a chance that you may suffer some brain damage from the whole ordeal as well. Alright?" he asked, trying to be as reassuring as possible

"I have cancer?" asked Creepie, stunned. Skipper's mouth had nearly become unhinged from shock.

"Well, heh heh, yeah, that's the gist of it," said the Doctor, wanting to die on the spot.

"And, even if you take it all out, it might come back?"

"Er…yes, that cannot be ruled out as a possibility."

"And, I may lose a part of my mind, _if_ I don't die first?"

"Well, the chances of you actually _dying_ are quite slim, but they are still there, yes."

"Oh. Alright then. That's not good," said Creepie Creecher. "F#k."

…_Took ill on Thursday…_

* * *

So, my readers, or those that haven't abandoned this story during the long interval between the third chapter and this chapter, what do you think? I honestly like this chapter, although I'm not altogether sure about the last part there. It was a last minute decision, as the fact that I haven't updated this in **forever** was just killing me inside.

So, like it, don't? I will probably come back some day and revise the ending when or if I come up with a better ending, but I won't if I get enough positive reviews for this.

That's right! The button down there at the bottom of this screen does have a purpose! It's true! Simply press it and write something there, even if it's just a simple "lol!"

But, yeah, just review.


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